


No Surrender

by The_Word_Witch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America: The First Avenger, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Super Soldier Serum, WWII Bucky, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Word_Witch/pseuds/The_Word_Witch
Summary: Request:hey i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something where the ready and bucky are in the same hydra facility and try to escape together. idk maybe that’s bad but i love your writing!!Pairing:Bucky X ReaderSummary:In the winter of 1945 Hydra captures you on a mission with French Resistance fighters. Since then you’ve been alone, moved from facility to facility while they try and avoid the advances from Allied forces. One day though they throw a cellmate in with you. A young man with a metal arm. When you see his face you immediately recognize him as Sargent James Barnes. Maybe together the two of you have a chance of making it out of this hell alive.





	No Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Well… here’s a one shot (ish). I did it. I’m hurting. I need a blankie and a cookie and a cuddle. 
> 
> At first, when I saw this request I was like, “Hmm, I kinda did this with OFAM at the beginning,” but then my little history minor brain went BUT WWII and this happened. 
> 
> Just for context, this takes place over 24/48 hours in July of 1945. So post Cap’s ‘death’ and right before the war ended. I know that likely Bucky didn’t receive his arm until later but whatever, I’m driving this bus. 
> 
> [The song mentioned Le chant des partisans was a popular Resistance ballad during WWII. There’s a ton of recordings and translations out there if you’re interested.]

Consciousness came back slowly. His head pounding, whole body burning and aching, and he feels… heavier somehow, like someone’s attached a weight to his left side to keep him down. Why just his left side?

A zinging pain shoots through his left shoulder, he screams. When his eyes shoot open to see what the fuck is happening the glinting of metal triggers his memory. Hydra. He thought it was a nightmare but it’s here, that was real.

“No… No, no, no, nonono…” He repeats it until the word loses meaning, trying to drag himself up and away from the horrifying thing attached to his body.

Another scream tears through him. Panic, pure and feral tears through him. The sound of his heart in his ears drowns out the noises spilling from him. Electric shocks pulse up from the arm, the pain near blinding.

Get it off, he has to get it off. It’s unreasonable but he’s so far past reason right now.

Like a rabid animal caught in a trap, he begins to claw at the still healing flesh around where the metal meets his shoulder. Blood wells, he doesn’t care, doesn’t care how much it may hurt, he has to do this.

Arms wrap around him from behind gripping both flesh and metal, holding him tight. He screams again.

“Stop it,” a soft voice whispers in his ear. He struggles against the mystery arms but they’re strong. The accent French, the voice female.

After a moment he gets control enough to will his body to stop struggling and relax a touch. “There, that’s it.” your grip loosens and he whirls on you, the metal arm swaying painfully. Instantly your hands rise in surrender.

“I won’t hurt you…” Bucky is taken back for a second. He expected something different when he felt that iron grip around him. Instead, there’s just a woman, fairly average with a pretty face.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t watch you hurt yourself…” Your eyes float to the gashes by his shoulder, “Even if you managed, somehow to get it off they’d just put it back.” You walk away from him and collapse onto a cot on the far side of the large cell.

“What… where…”

“Welcome to hell, Sargent Barnes,” your accent makes the words softer but somehow all the more sinister.

“How do you know me?”

You smile a sad smile, it’s pretty still he thinks. “I know who all The Howlers are. Or knew… I’m Y/N Bernard. French Resistance.” Concern knits your brows, “Are you… were they all captured?”

Bucky tries to think. The train. Did they lose? When was that... No… “Just me. I… I fell and…”

“Good,” his eyes shoot to you. “Sorry, not good that you fell or that you’re here. Good that they’re still out there. We need men like you… like them, or… this is all for nothing,” you gesture to the cell.  Sighing heavily your head falls back against the wall with a thud.

“How long?” His brain feels fuzzy.

“For me?” you shake your head. “Who knows. Weeks? Months? I can’t keep track…” Fingers light on your left cheek, there’s bruising there, shallow cuts. “Hard to keep track of a lot of things recently.”

Your eyes focus on his face, “Looks like it’s the same for you.”

His right-hand raises to touch his left cheek and he winces. The same marks are there he assumes. But what…

It’s like getting struck by lightning. Bucky cries out and clutches at his head with his right hand. There’s the feeling of something pressing against his face. It hurts. Sending electricity coursing through his body and…

He realizes it’s his own right hand pressed hard against the bruises there. You’re next to him, your delicate but calloused hand trying to gently get him to stop.

“There, there, mon chou,” his hand slowly falls away as he looks into your eyes. A tender smile lifts your full lips. It’s not until your hands wipe at his face does he realize he was crying. He’s too broken at this moment to care.

You stand to move to his left side lifting the horrific arm, “Come.” Slowly you guide him to the cot he woke up on. You take a seat on one end, your back leaning against the wall and gesture for him to lay his head in your lap.

Why would they put someone like you here…? He’s suddenly suspicious. Words don’t seem to come easily right now but he eyes you.

“I don’t know either,” your steady gaze holds his. “I’m sure it’s nothing good. But for now, let’s be happy we have friendly faces to look into… it may be-“ your voice cracks and you cross yourself.

This sets the words free. Bucky snorts, “You think he’s listening here?”

You laugh bitterly, “I think he’s abandoned the world to burn. But it’s a habit.” Suddenly you appear much more tired but smile up at him nonetheless.

Bucky lowers himself to the cot and lays his head on your thighs looking up at you, the metal arm leaning against the wall. Your expression is tender as you run your fingers through his thick hair. His eyes flutter closed.

“My Ma would do that when I was sick… I’m never gonna see them again…”

Your fingers still, “Don’t. Don’t you dare.” His eyes open and look into yours, there’s a fire there. “This is no time for surrender, soldier.” So much conviction. You’re right. He nods.

Neither of you says anything else and both drift away into a soft sleep.

Bucky doesn’t know how long it’s been, long enough for his mind to somehow forget where he is. He’s cold, the sound of a door opening. Steve maybe, coming to tell him he’s late for work. He doesn’t care, he feels sick, he won’t be going in.

Your scream pierces the haze in his mind as he’s sent barreling to the ground. He tries to stand but his balance is thrown by the dead weight of the metal arm hanging on his left shoulder, useless.

A stream of expletives in French pour from you as three soldiers try to wrangle you. All he can do at this moment is stare dumbfounded, helpless. One of the men grabs your head and jabs a needle in your neck. The fight immediately starts to drain from your limbs. He releases your head and it falls forward.

As they drag you out you look up a bit at Bucky, “No, surrender.”

Bucky doesn’t move for hours. Just sits. Frozen. Staring at the door.

Eventually, he hears something on the other side. Refusing to let them take him quietly he forces himself to stand, teeth gritting from the pain in his left side. As the door swings open, he’s geared up for a fight. Instead, they throw you at his feet followed by two bowls of gruel and hunks of stale bread before slamming it closed once more.

“Y/N!” He kneels down in front of you reaching out. An animalistic noise tears from you and you push him off kilter. He’s ready for a blow, something. You only run past him to the far corner of the cell pressing tight into the space before lowering into a ball, face buried in your knees.

Bucky gives you space. His stomach growls, painfully empty. As much as he doesn’t want to eat their food he knows he needs to. Tentatively he picks up one of the chunks of brown stale bread. It’s not moldy at least and looks more edible than the gruel.

He sits on the edge of his cot, propping the arm on it to relieve the pressure. Halfway through the bread, he hears a soft sob come from you. For a moment he stares, unsure of what to do. He grabs the food, if you could call it that, and slowly approaches.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, just above a whisper. Your eyes shoot to him, wild, scared. The bruising on your face looks deeper. He holds his right hand up and parrots your words from earlier, “I won’t hurt you.” You look confused.

Dernier tried to teach them all French, some of it stuck… not enough but… “Je suis, Barnes,” something seems to register, “remember?” He gestures to himself, “Ami.” It wasn’t much but they were the closest thing to friends the other had here. And it was all he could remember.

Your brows knit and you hold your head between your hands. “Merde,” you groan.

Bucky grins a little and sits next to you against the wall, “And here I thought you were a classy dame.”

You laugh, “Whatever gave you that idea?” Your gaze slides over to him and you smile.

“Here,” he passes you the tray with the gruel and bread. “Couldn’t bring myself to eat the slop but the bread is passable.” You nod and pick it up. Taking a bite you grimace.

“If you think this is passable I’m very concerned as to what Americans think bread should be.”

He laughs a little, “I’m sure what I think of as good can’t meet your high Parisienne standards.”

You look at him in mock offense, “How dare you call me a Parisienne!”

There’s a little touch of joy in your eyes, he’s thankful for it, “Where are you from then?”

“Lyon.” One word but it holds so much. Lyon was a hotbed for the Resistance in France. They fought like hell in any way they could against the Nazis. “You?”

“Brooklyn,” his heart constricts a bit at the thought of home.

“That’s... in New York City?”

“Sort of. We like to think of ourselves as separate. Have our own baseball team and everything,” he flashes you a sidelong smile as you giggle a bit.

“You American’s and your sports. Well, when we get out of this nightmare I will have to take you to Lyon for some real bread,” you take a reluctant bite and slowly chew.

“Well I’ll have to take you for pizza and a game, show you what our sports,” he lightheartedly mocks your accent, “are all about.”

You laugh, “I’ve had pizza, real pizza, in Italy so-”

“Nah, you gotta get some Brooklyn pie.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrows raise, “You’re saying your American pizza is better than the _real_ thing?”

“Definitely.” He feels his face scrunch up in a real smile, it seems out of place here but it feels good to have a reason to.

“Alright. It’s a plan,” you hold your right hand out and he shakes it. “You should know Sargent-”

“Bucky.”

“Bucky,” he likes the way it sounds when you say it, “that’s a unique name.” Bucky shrugs in agreement. “Well, Bucky, you should know I take my plans _very_ seriously.” Your eyes meet his and there’s a ferocity there.

“Good,” he offers you a smile and feels his own will power grow stronger. He wouldn’t die here and neither would you. As if to remind him just exactly how hard escape would be a zinging pain shoots up his left shoulder and he hisses. Your face is a mask of concern as you turn to him.

“I’m ok,” he grinds out through his teeth forcing himself to breathe deep. Would he have to rip this damn thing off before trying to get out? Because if so…

There’s a noise on the other side of the door and a small sound comes from you. Immediately he moves in front of you, crouching, knowing there isn’t much he can do but he’ll be damned if he just sits helplessly again. A few tense minutes pass. Your breathing is ragged, hitching. Once he’s fairly certain no one is coming he turns back to you.

“I don’t think they’re coming now,” he reaches his right hand to you and you flinch. Now he notices the marks on your wrists, on your ankles where they poke from under your shift…

“What did they do?”

Your face shifts from fear to disgust, “What the hell do you think?”

Rage fills his chest. He knew, just didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to give the idea power. These fucking monsters. It wasn’t bad enough that they-

There’s a loud thud, the sound of something hitting the ground like gravel, metal groaning. He looks to his left and the fist is embedded into the wall to the knuckles.

“Mon Dieu,” you breathe out.  

Bucky can’t look away from the point where he connects to the wall. Slowly he works the hand free, fascinated and horrified that suddenly the metal monstrosity is responding to his commands almost naturally. He flexes the fingers a few times before you take the hand in your own.

He gasps and your eyes shoot to him, “I… I can feel that.”

“Incroyable,” you whisper as you trace the joints on the upturned palm. Suddenly you both look at the indention left in the wall, clarity dawning.

“You’re strong,” he says to you looking back. It sounds simplistic but he remembered how intense your grip had been when you first met.

Nodding you respond, “They did… are doing, something, to me…” His mind wanders to Steve, the transformation he underwent… “And this is,” you squeeze the metal hand between your own.

“A weapon,” he acknowledges.

“Don’t let them see,” you hiss. He looks at you for clarification, “I’ve done my best to not let on how much my strength has increased and they don’t know you can use this yet. I think it’s the only reason they allowed us to be in the same cell. Conserve space while they figure out if we are worth it.”

It’s logical. You continue, “The place is small. I think what you and the Howlers were doing put them on the run. I’ve been moved twice since they got me.”

He thinks about this. They’d been sweeping one base after another off the map. It wasn’t unlikely that the others would get to this one soon. Waiting wasn’t wise though…

“How well can you navigate the space out there?” He doesn’t remember any of it. Just this cell.

You sit silently, thinking for a moment before responding, “Well enough I believe. This is a bunker, partially buried. The only exit I’m sure of is the main one. There is a hatch I’ve seen but I cannot be certain where it goes.”

He nods, “You said it’s small though.”

“Yes. I’ve clocked no more than 12 persons here any time I’ve been out. Guards seem to work in shifts, about six of them at a time. The rest are medical or research. Noncombatant judging by their demeanor.” He’s genuinely impressed.

“Damn,” he smiles at you.

“What? I’m a good spy, if they had any sense they’d blindfold me.” You scoff, “But all they see is a woman.”

“Good,” you eye him, “you can use that to your advantage, the more they underestimate you the more impact you can have.” You flash him an approving smile. 

The way it lights your whole face up is beautiful. He promises himself that when you both get out he’s not only taking you for a slice and a game but to a dance too, he’d be proud to have you on his… The metal hand flexes around yours.  

“What’s our plan then, Sargent?” Your gaze is confident.

Bucky takes a deep breath trying to fully clear his head. Pulling away from your grip he stands and feels the movement of the arm. Rotating the shoulder, flexing it in and out. It feels lighter somehow than before, he no longer feels like it’s going to drag him down or throw him entirely off center.

He takes an orthodox stance and jabs a few punches into the air. There’s a bit of pain where the arm is connected but not near as much as earlier. Looking down he notices that where he scratched himself is already scabbing over. Can’t focus on what that may mean. Swallowing hard he turns to you finding you openly staring. Bucky has seen that look in plenty of gals, and he can’t lie, it’s a boost at this moment.

“Like the show?”

You snort a little laugh, “Just wondering if fighting ghosts helps you think.”

“Needed to see if I could move this thing s’all.”

“Looks like you can move just fine, Sargent Barnes,” your smirk is teasing. He returns it.

“Can you fight?”

“No, I’m only good for looking pretty,” you wink. “Of course I can fight. A damn good shot too, though I doubt I’m as good as you.” That’s one reputation he’d rather not have follow him, he didn’t like being a killer.

“Ok,” he runs his right hand through his hair, “do they always send three guards in for you?”

“Oui,” you nod, “two to hold me and one with a shot.” A shadow flits across your face. If he had anything to do with it you’d never experience that again.

“I was a little dazed earlier but do they close the door behind them?” You nod. Excellent. He sits on the edge of your cot and you rise to sit next to him.

“It’s safe to say they’ll be back for one of us at some point. If they’re sending three for you they will likely send at least that many for me,” you nod in agreement and he continues. “When we hear the door we retreat back here each taking a corner, so they have to enter the cell.” His mind whirs looking around, trying to figure every possibility. He reaches under the cot and feels the metal frame.

“I think I may be able to bust some of this apart with the arm, give you some sort of weapon.” His right index finger taps on his chin in thought, “There’s no way to do this gracefully with us being outnumbered. It’s gonna be a brawl either way. But if we can incapacitate those guards we can get their weapons. No one will pay any mind to the noises since you generally fight back.” It wasn’t something he needed you to tell him, after only a few hours of knowing you he could tell.

“Then it’s just a matter of busting out and running like hell. It’s not the best plan but I don’t know that we have the luxury of time to figure out something better.” Bucky looks at you waiting for your response.

You look lost in thought. “The surprise is going to be our best weapon here. They don’t know just how strong I am and they don’t know about the arm. If we do this-”

“It’s the next time that door opens,” he nods. Both of you stare at it knowing it could be at any moment.  

“Alright,” you sigh. “Think you can try to break some stone off the wall for me?” He doesn’t ask and instead just digs the metal fingers into the softish concrete until he pries a small piece out.

After handing it to you he just stares at the hand, Stark would have a heyday with this thing. When he looks back at you, you’re on the floor trying to scratch a map into it. Though barely visible it’s enough.

“This is just what I’ve seen but it seems like this place isn’t much larger.” The place seems basic. A simple square bunker with a blast wall, tunnel leading out, rooms all opening into a relatively small open area. Your cell to the back right of the entrance. Hydra must truly be on the run to be using a hole like this. It was possible you could pull this off.

It was what you didn’t know though that made worry churn in his near empty stomach. What was outside this bunker? Open fields, forest, mountains? All would present a different problem… Still, it would be better to go down swinging than to sit here and let them do what they would. As you said. No, surrender.

Seeming to read his mind you pipe up after a moment, “We may make it out only to walk into a firing squad.”

He shrugs, “If I’m going to call it in, doll, I’d rather do it on my own terms.” You flash him a crooked grin and stand up to sit on the cot next to him.

“So we are doing this? Truly,” your gaze is expectant.

“Absolutely.” This earns him a dazzling smile. He may be in hell but who’d have thought he’d be in it with a dame like you.

You lean back onto the wall and take a deep breath, the smile still on your face. After a moment your fingers begin to drum a familiar beat. Le chant des partisans. Softly you begin to sing:

_Ami, entends-tu le vol noir des corbeaux sur nos plaines?_  
_Ami, entends-tu les cris sourds du pays qu'on enchaîne?_  
_Ohé, partisans, ouvriers et paysans, c'est l'alarme.  
_ _Ce soir l'ennemi connaîtra le prix du sang et les larmes._

Bucky knows the words. All the Howlers did. He joins you, both keeping your voices quiet enough as to not alert the guards but loud enough that this French Resistance anthem gives you both hope.

At the end you laugh a little, leaning into him. “Not bad for an American.”

“We Howlers are cultured Joes.” Once again you slip your hand into the metal palm, still amazed at how much of it he can feel.

“What do you want to do the most when this is over, Bucky?”

He watches you study the metal for a moment before answering, “Hug my ma,” he swallows the lump in his throat. “And be annoyed by my little sisters.” Your eyes are glassy when you look up at him.

“What about you, Y/N?”

You take a shaky breath and look away, “Find my family… They fled Lyon, my brother and I stayed behind to fight. The Butcher got him,” Bucky feels his own heart freeze at that thought, “but the rest are out there somewhere, my sister and nice and our parents. I know they are.”

He grips your chin with his right hand and turns you to look at him, “When we get out, I’ll help you find them.” His family was safe, he knew that they’d be waiting for him… they’d wait a little longer if need be. A sad smile curls your lips and he can’t help but think what it would be like to kiss the sadness away.

“We should rest,” you say through a yawn.

He nods, “I’ll take first watch,” he goes to stand.

“Wait,” you tug him back. “we have no pillows,” you say with a smile.

“I have been known to make a decent one from time to time.”

“That I do not doubt, Sargent.” Bucky sits back as you had earlier and you lay your head in his lap. “Thank you,” you say through another yawn. In a moment you’re asleep.

Each of you manages a couple of hours of sleep before deciding to not risk more. Between shifts, you had said that there wasn’t much of a schedule here. Things happened at random to keep you confused. 

The waiting was the worst.

You try to distract yourselves. Bucky keeps flexing and testing the arm, making sure he can throw a punch and not lose his footing, feeling its limits as best he can. He breaks off a piece of his cot of you to use as a weapon when the time comes. The two of you talk logistics, possible plans of attack, how things may go, what may be there when you get out. You talk yourselves in and out of anxiety with that one.

After one particularly unpleasant scenario he asks, “Do you like dancing?”

You toss him a confused look, “Of course. I love dancing.”

“When we’re out I’m taking you dancing.”

“Are you now?”

“Yup. Unless you have other plans,” he flashes you a smile.

“I think I can find the time for you, Sargent.” He laughs a little, “Will this dancing happen before or after the baseball game you’ve promised?”

He thinks, “After.” You’re sitting cross-legged on your cot, the two of you sticking to the back of the room just in case. He sits beside you and takes your hand.

“We can make a day of it. Get a slice, catch a game, go to Coney Island. Have you ever been on a roller coaster?”

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head and laugh.

“You’ll love it!” He beams, “After that, we’ll hit up this swell jazz club I know about. Dance until dawn.” Bucky can’t help but revel in how this talk seems to light you up. That light gives him hope.

“This will be my first time to America, you better not disappoint,” you tease.

“Doll, I wouldn’t dream of letting a gal like you down.”

“Good, I-” There's a sound on the outside of the door. For a second you both stare into the other's eyes, the resolve palpable between you. Quickly you move to your opposite corners ready for the fight of your lives.

Three men enter, he can see the Hydra weapons glowing on their belts. Good, better than a standard issue Lugermorph.

“Time for you, boy,” one of the men says in heavily accented English. Bucky doesn’t move. “Come, now,” they move further into the cell. “Cowering in the corner like a scared woman huh?”

They glance over to you, one of them snickers and approaches you. Bucky sees you tense but he knows you can handle this. You have to.

As soon as the one who spoke reaches for Bucky he lashes out, favoring his right by habit before his brain remembers that the left is the better choice. With one fluid motion, he grabs the man’s head and smashes it into the wall with a gut-churning crack.

The other says something in German before lunging at Bucky with some kind of baton. He dodges and catches a glance of you snapping the other guard’s neck. You didn’t need the piece of metal, your hands were deadly enough. In an instant, you’re on the guard with the baton, legs around his middle, arms choking him. Bucky disarms the man and with a pop, you finish the job.

You both stare for a minute at the scene before you. Three dead men in less than five minutes. When he looks at you, you’re staring at your hands in shock.

“Hey,” he steps over a corpse and takes your hands in his own, one flesh one metal. “Is this your first…”

“No,” you look around, “just didn’t know how strong…” He nods.

Without another word, you begin to strip the guards. One is slightly smaller than the others and you take his clothes though they’re still big on you, it’s better than the shift you had before.

“Will the boots be ok?” He asks as he buttons a shirt over his torso, the fabric straining against the metal arm.

“Oui,” you’re rolling the socks of one of the men to tuck in the toe of the boot, “better than nothing.” He nods as he slips into a pair of boots.

Both dressed and armed you take a moment to breathe.

“You ready?” You ask.

“As I’ll ever be,” he smiles.

He opens the door and you follow. It takes a minute for the few people there to realize what’s off. Once they do it’s a shit show.

You’re incredibly proficient at hand to hand and after a minute he’s not concerned about your ability to hold your own as much as he is his. The arm though. Bullets graze off of it only sending pinging sensations through him and it can deliver death blows like they’re nothing. It makes him a little nauseous.

It seems that you’re pretty spot on with the number of people here. Somehow within a few minutes, that feels like a lifetime you’re both standing in a sea of bodies. One of which managed to trip some kind of alarm. It’s unsettling.  

“You’re bleeding,” he rushes to you, a deep gash across your cheek gushing blood.

“I’m alright,” you wipe at it wincing. The two of you check around for any additional weapons that you may be able to use. He sees you grab an additional pistol and a couple of knives while he grabs one of the Hydra rifles and a couple of grenades.

“Are we ready for the unknown?” You ask, tucking a knife into your boot.

He glances toward the blast wall, “No, but what choice do we have?” You nod and he takes the lead.

There’s a speaker for the siren by the door. In the close passage, the sound is near deafening. Taking a deep breath he makes sure the manual bar is locked on the door so no one from outside can barge in and slides the view door open just a touch.

“Shit,” he growls. Ten to fifteen soldiers are lining up outside the bunker. Hydra weapons visible on each.

“I don’t like the sound of that.” He turns to you, your face a mask of concern.

“Go back,” he wants to be away from this blasted noise.

As you both round the blast wall they try the door. He knows they’ll try to blow it.

“You said there’s a hatch?”

You nod and gesture, “In the med room back there.” He sees you swallow hard.

“That’s our last choice. If not…” Well, it didn’t need to be said.

There’s a blast at the door and the bunker shudders. He goes to bolt but you grab him. Suddenly your lips are pressed to his. For a moment the horror of it all drops away and he lets himself return the kiss. Your fingers pull at his hair, teeth nip his lower lip. When you separate after the second blow shakes around you, you’re both panting.

“I wasn’t dying without doing that at least once,” you say smirking, picking up your rifle and running for the room.

“Won’t hear any complaints from me,” he calls after you.

As you enter the med ward you immediately bolt up the ladder on the wall in the far corner. Intentionally averting your eyes from the chair at the other side. Bucky feels his scalp tingle at the sight of it.

“I can’t get this open,” you hop down and stumble as a blast that must have breached the door reverberates. Panic ripples over your features.

Without a word, he bolts up the ladder and grabs the hatch with his left and pulls with all his strength. It’s stuck fast, he can feel the metal arm straining against his flesh and he groans in pain.

“Stop!” You call up, “If you can’t-” Before you can finish the hatch comes loose. He hops down.

“Go,” he gestures for you to head up.

“You first,” your eyes are huge. There’s noise from the main room of the bunker and he knows you don’t have time.

Pulling you to him he plants one last quick kiss on your lips. “I’ll be right behind you just get up that damn ladder.”

Shaking your head you go up and crawl onto the landing. “Come on,” you hiss your hand urging him on. He climbs up the ladder to the door of the hatch, the voices of the Hydra soldiers just within earshot.

“When you get out, find Steve Rodgers, him and the Howlers will help you get me out. Tell Steve that this isn’t the end of the line, he’ll know what it means.” He grabs your hand with his left and kisses it, looking into your eyes, “No, surrender.” Before your protest can reach his ears he pushes you back hard and slams the hatch shut.

There are a few muffled bangs from the other side of the hatch before he’s too far to hear them. His heart is oddly calm in his chest. Even if this is it, the moment that he cashes all his chips in, at least he got you out, at least someone can tell Steve he went down swinging. That punk would be proud at least.

Bucky takes a deep breath, raises the Hydra rifle to his shoulder, and exits the room firing on anything within eyesight. Thankfully he catches them off guard just enough to toss a grenade behind him toward the med room door. When it blows his eardrums go with it but the rubble will block their way to the hatch hopefully giving you enough of a head start.

More soldiers file in. This is it. He tosses the gun to the side and pulls the last two grenades thinking to blow them straight to hell with him. Before he can, the left arm goes limp sending shocks through his whole body, he hits his knees crying out.

The last thing he sees is a Hydra soldier approaching him with a needle. Then… darkness.

* * *

_There will be an epilogue/drabble soon._


End file.
